"No" the cenobite replied.

"You are special."

Dalton's mind did not know where to turn. It just couldn't process all the pain the body was feeling. The agony was quite an overload. His fevered eyes took in all the sights around him which gave his brain pause. The hooks through his palms stretched his pallid flesh taut. He could see the hook in his left hand had clung right to the middle of his ornate tattoo. The design of blue buddha statue no bled profusely over his trembling palm and onto the white tile. He had tried to make a run for the apartment door but, the two metal chains that held the hooks in place where immovable. Dalton had only succeeded in pulling the skin fiercely back from the bones. He could feel the bones just waiting to burst through his fingertips. He didn't take another step. He could not. He screamed again.

"N-No! It's not fair. Ahhhhhh god please Stop this.. I don't..." he trailed off. Tears clouding his vision and spit shot from his lips.

The Cenobite, Blithe spoke to him again.

"I'm afraid you'll have to sit down to hear this." In the next instant Dalton felt his hands being pulled again as the chains swung his entire whimpering form across the room. His body was hurled into the air with malevolent force. He landed upended in an office chair. His moans were long and drawn out now.

"Comfy?" Blithe asked.

The chains retracted back into the box with lightning speed taking Dalton's dangling pieces of flesh inside it's strange chambers.

The hole in the top of the box sealed up with a pressurized hiss.

Blithe began her approach to the struggling cage of flesh.

Dalton was crumpled in the chair. He tucked his bleeding hands into his shirt and fought to choke back the terror he felt. The pain seemed to dim at the horrible realization. That this creature was coming towards him. He couldn't even fathom what manner of monster was this.

Unbelievably it was female. it was encased in a leather bodysuit which split at the sides revealing long legs and a garter belt that was sewn into the skin. Clasped to her belt, several implements of cicatrisation dangled and clanked with every step. Dalton could make out dark maroon stains on each and every one. Her bare breasts had two criss crossing strips of the suit covering her nipples. Small bracelets dangled from all over to costume. Whatever light there was in the room glistened on them. Her facial features were nothing short of surreal. Where hair should have been was long thin strips of leather pulled back so tightly in a ponytail that the skin around her eyes creased. Blithe stepped fully into the light and Dalton's mania grew with every new horrid detail. The creature's bottom lip was pulled impossibly down from her cheeks by the corners and were stuck to the center of it's breasts held in place by two golden pins pushed in to the hilt. Every head movement would pull at the horrible concoction. Painful as it looked, Dalton somehow found it compelling and perverse. The soft bobbing of the thing's breasts caused his cock to awaken and swell. His pain dimmed a little more, but the shock and fear still ran rampant through his soul. Other than these distortions, the face was gentle. With kind eyes and a long face. Sloping and smooth. Blithe stood over Dalton blinking at him for a moment. Then she seemed to lose interest in the man. She turned and walked towards the lament configuration. She barely lifted her long milky legs. It seemed as if she floated to it. She retrieved the box from where it lay on the tile and returned to face Dalton.

Dalton's hands still wrapped in his shirt sleeves, gained a small sliver of consciousness back. He propped himself upright in his chair. Blithe stood inches from Dalton. She was stroking the lacquered top of the box with one long pale finger. As if it were a pet, or a secret lover's pleasure diamond. Slowly circling the disc in the center. Stroking. rubbing. Brushing. It stared.

"What are you?" said Dalton.

"...I am your guide." Blithe intoned. Looking at the box.

"Guide? To where? What d-"

"Not to where child but to what. Experience. Dominion. To a place where the winds are thick with suffering. The only sky ,black. The only moon, your mind's eye. And the only god...mine." It looked up from the cube.

Dalton faltered. "I don't understand you."

"No you don't. And you can't. Words are only a sound, a whisper. To know. Ah to know is to be flung headlong into our pleasures. Taste our fruits. Dream our dreams. Where we dwell, pain and pleasure indivisible come together at the crossroads of hell. Your screams are our hidden ecstasies. And I am exquisitely pleased. Your flesh will sate many more, before it sates me."

At that Blithe's tongue circled around her upper lips bathing them in saliva. The gesture as no mockery. Dalton could smell the thing's vicious hunger.

"Nuh-uh! This aint real! This just isn't fucking possible!" he screamed at the cenobite.

"All pain is possible." It answered.

"FUCK YOU! I JUST TOOK THAT THING!" He pointed accusingly at the box. "IT'S NOT FOR ME. I TOOK IT AS A JOB! IT'S NOT FOR ME! IT'S NOT FUCKING FOR ME!!!!" He rasped at the demon.

Blithe gasped and closed her eyes for a moment. Dalton's fear came back swiftly now. Cold and chilling. He realized that his madness was being pulled from the air. And Blithe was drinking it. His agony. His confusion. His blatant suffering.

"Oh but it is." it replied, half laughing.

"It is. It was your fingers on the box. Your blade that cut through the girl in the dank alley. Was it not your pliant hands that snatched the box from her purse? Your legs didn't carry you here? Your mind is so banal. It's your blood that does the imagining. Your mind is turning me away. But your flesh. Your flesh is talking to me in it's own sweet and secret language. It's whispers to faint to hear. It's cries too deafening to comprehend. But I understand. So now we must go. Leviathan is generous in his mastery. But also strict, you must see.

"What is that?" said Dalton.

"No time for inquiries, child." One of Blithe's tools appeared in her hand. It slid smoothly down Dalton's cheek. Too petrified to scream. He could only feel. Blithe was right. His mind WAS dead to him now. Dalton could only feel. Blithe's leather gloved thumb lightly stroking his balls through the trousers. Her wet tongue and augmented lip catching the fresh blood as it seeped from the cut. And for one grim instant he felt the cenobite's tongue slip under the skin of his cheeks and lightly tug.

"Come." it implied.

"We...Have....Such....Sights....to show you."